The waters of Dunfanaghy Bay were as still as Donal had ever seen them. The reflection of the waxing half moon was pristine, and when its light landed on nearby buildings the light did not wobble or ripple.

  As with most things, the calm winds and seas came with a bargain. The air stagnated, as did the smells of fish entrails, smoke from the warming fires in nearby buildings and the pockets of shallow seawater that did not circulate into the bay.

  The din of cricket chirps enveloped any remaining ambient noise about the city but it wasn’t enough cover for Niall’s liking. He bade the group carry the currachs over the half-mile journey from Gavin’s house to the harbor, rather than risk the attention hooves and wagon wheels could draw.

  The harbor held but a single pier and a supply outbuilding. The pier was only two feet wider than the boats, requiring care from anyone who passed boats not to fall in the bay. Falling was not a life-threatening prospect; Dunfanaghy Bay measured two fathoms at its deepest. However, between the splashing, thrashing and chilly May waters, it was a situation to be avoided at all costs.

  “Don’t put ‘em in the water yet, lad,” Niall told Donal. “I want everything and everyone ready before we do. Let’s space them out on the pier for now.”

  Donal marveled at the ease with which two people could carry the boat. Two dozen branches and strips of wood ran the length of the hull. Ribs of similar width crossed the boat from bow to stern. Thick, tanned hides stretched under the boat from gunwale to gunwale, and three thick planks provided a perch to keep its crew from sitting in any seawater that splashed inside.

  Niall and Donal were to share a boat with Brigid. Siobhan would lead another boat, taking Brendan and Ciara with her. Maeve would bring Fergal and Finn in the last boat. Her attempt to secure a fourth passenger had failed and anyone who inconvenienced her during the final preparations paid the price for it. On any other night Donal would have relished the chance to ride with her.

  Gavin and the Coleraine faction entered the harbor with the third boat teetering on their shoulders. Mrs. MacSweeney and Cíaran double-checked the sacks to ensure equal distribution of the supplies and assigned the weapons to the proper boats. Gavin and Fergal carried the last boat to the pier. He and Maeve traded not a word or glance as the boat passed her.

  The sound of hoofbeats approached from the west. The rider kept the horse at a walk but given the relative silence of the surrounding town, the horse could have approached in full gallop for all the sound it made.

  Niall threw his hands up. “Of all the—did you tell the man not to come by horseback?” he asked Mrs. MacSweeney.

  The widow did not appreciate Niall’s tone or expression. “I did.” She pointed back at Niall. “And I’ll thank you to remember I’m not himself over there.”

  Niall drew in a long breath and bobbled his head. “Indeed.”

  Murrough dismounted and walked Raetha toward the pier. Finn dropped a hauberk and set of spaulders on the wood planks of the pier as his uncle neared, causing a moderate clatter.

  “Lad, did you forget we were supposed to leave here unnoticed?” Niall asked. His eyes were on Finn but his annunciation and the broad gestures he made were for Murrough’s benefit.

  Mrs. MacSweeney passed Donal on her way to Niall. She leaned toward the elder and jabbed a finger toward the pier. “Don’t you drag that lad into the middle of it. Finish your work, sir.”

  Niall stared daggers into the pier as he walked away.

  Finn set the armor down with such deliberation that it made no sound. “I don’t mean to question you, Mrs. MacSweeney,” Finn said as he stood. “But we’re traveling seven hundred miles. If we’re not stopping to resupply, I would have expected to carry double the rations.”

  “We packed plenty for the trip,” the widow said. “Don’t you worry.”

  “Dáirine,” Niall called from the supply building. “It’s time.”

  “Let’s go, lads,” she said to the brothers.

  The O’Cahan group stood aside and allowed the rest the chance for a goodbye.

  Murrough stepped forward and hugged Donal first. “I’m sorry for my part in all this, boys,” he said. “Look out for each other and do not despair, no matter how bad things may get. You two can get through it so long as you stick together.”

  This was not the farewell Donal expected. He didn’t know how to respond so he squeezed his uncle tighter.

  Finn shook his head. “We may not understand why you did the things you did, but you’re still our uncle. For now, I’ll trust that this was another mistake born out of good intentions.” He leaned in to hug Murrough. “We’ll try to make you proud.”

  Murrough sniffed. “Too late, lad.” He let out a soft laugh as they parted. “Oh, and Finn—”

  Murrough handed Finn a folded piece of parchment.

  “Keep that dry and read that to Maeve when your boats land at Iceland. She’ll want to hear it.” The right half of his mouth bent upward.

  Finn nodded and tucked the paper in his belt as the trio walked over to the MacSweeneys. Murrough whispered something to Siobhan as they shared a one-armed hug. Donal didn’t hear what was said but Siobhan’s immediate glance at Finn and Donal clued him in. As Murrough finished speaking Siobhan knitted her brow and pulled away to meet the elder’s eyes. Murrough punctuated his private conversation with a nod.

  The brothers traded handshakes with Cíaran before Mrs. MacSweeney stepped forward. “You’ve come so far in such a short time,” Mrs. MacSweeney said to Donal. “Your parents would be proud. You’re not alone. Don’t forget that.” With that, she hugged Donal.

  The widow placed a hand on Finn’s cheek. “Shiv was right about you from the start,” she said. “You’re a good man and you make her happy. Now you need to bring her back to me, son.”

  “I will,” Finn said, his throat tightening.

  The widow pecked his cheek and squeezed him. She squared up to speak with her daughter. Her lip trembled for several seconds until she finally shook her head. “I can’t,” she said, her eyes becoming glassy. “I don’t have the words.”

  “S’alright, Mam,” Siobhan said as she wrapped her arms around her mother. “You can tell me when you see me next.”

  Mrs. MacSweeney sniffed and let out a ragged breath. She let go of Siobhan and caught Maeve as the woman passed them for the pier. “Be safe, dear,” she said.

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  Maeve’s eyes darted to the ground as she rubbed her upper arm. “I will, Mrs. MacSweeney.” Her eyes rose to meet the widow’s and she gave a sheepish smile.

  She’s sneaking off, Donald thought.

  He used the exchange with Mrs. MacSweeney as a chance to put himself between the pier and Maeve. Maeve’s face wrinkled when she realized Donal wouldn’t move out of her way.

  “Oi,” Maeve said. “Why are you in my way?”

  “Where are you going?” Donal asked.

  “You know yourself where I’m heading,” Maeve said. “It’s too late in the night for silly games.”

  “You’re not going yet,” Donal said. “You’ve got one last bit to take care of.”

  Maeve took one step closer. “Wind your neck in, sir, before I do it for you.”

  Donal pointed to Niall and returned his eyes to Maeve. “Is that the way you want to leave things?”

  Maeve looked back at Niall and Murrough. The men spent the better part of two decades as each other’s best friend and most trusted confidant. Here, minutes away from the possibility of permanent separation, they looked everywhere else but at each other. They talked to everyone else but each other. At this moment neither of them looked angry—just melancholy. They seemed to realize neither would make the first move toward reconciliation in time.

  “That’s different,” Maeve said.

  “Perhaps,” Donal said, “but not as much as you want to think.”

  Maeve sidestepped to her right and held out an arm to pass. “Donal—”

  Donal shifted to keep her in front of him and took a step forward.

  “You’re too close,” said Maeve.

  “Then back up and tell Gavin goodbye,” Donal said. “He deserves as much. You deserve as much.”

  She squinted at Donal. Her furrowed brow twitched at the bridge of her nose.

  “I’m right,” Donal said, “and you know it.”

  Maeve backed away, her eyes set on Donal. She stomped over to Gavin, a motion that put the smithy on the defensive. Their gestures were abrupt at first, but after a minute the exchange softened. They stood across from each other, out of words. Maeve’s eyes dipped to the ground and she rubbed the top of her nose with a finger. Gavin lifted her chin and kissed her. After an initial jerk of surprise, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. They embraced for a few moments after the kiss ended and with a final smile she walked back toward the boat.

  “And who taught you to be gawking at a couple during a moment like that?” Maeve asked Donal as she neared the pier. Her face strained to repress a smile but it ultimately failed. She gave him a soft smack on the back of his head as she passed.

  Brendan, Brigid, Fergal and Ciara now headed for the group on the pier. “A week at sea,” Brendan said. “Let’s get after it, then.”

  “It won’t take but a day,” Niall said. He waved a hand over his head before ducking into the supply building. Murrough understood that to be his cue.

  Murrough stepped around both boat and person until he reached the bow of the currach at the far end of the pier. He closed his eyes and composed himself with some deep breaths. He held his hands out wide and made a pronounced arc with his hands until his palms faced the pier, even with his belt.

  “Bronn draío?t an scúap?óra tonnta,” he said, placing his hands on both gunwales near the bow.

  A glow of deep blue light appeared between the ends of the hide covering and the wooden ribs of the currach. In a few seconds the light was bright enough to shine through the hide covering the gunwale.

  “What was that?” Donal asked.

  “That was the Wavesweeper enchantment,” Murrough said. “I’ll explain further after I’m finished with the other two boats.”

  “You did all that?” Donal asked.

  “Gavin added carvings along the side that help amplify the magic,” Murrough said. “Please, let me focus.”

  Murrough repeated the process on the other two currachs. When his task had finished he stepped off the pier and shared some last instructions.

  “Maeve and Siobhan, when you are in open water, simply rest your hands on both sides of the hull and the boat will follow your spoken commands,” he said. “The faster you make it sail, the more magic it will consume. Don’t misunderstand me; you have more than enough energy for five journeys. But you should know this power that I’ve given your boats is finite.”

  “Is there a limit to how fast these can go?” Brigid asked.

  Murrough nodded. “There is, but the boat would likely throw you well before you reach it,” he said.

  “On that note,” Niall said, closing the door to the supply building, “Thread these through the holes Gavin added near your seats and tie it firmly. It could be what saves you from going over.” He handed a section of rope to Fergal, Brendan and Brigid and the trio complied with Niall’s order. “If you have not put on the covering that Gavin provided for you, now is the time to do so.”

  Each crew placed their currach into the water, secured with separate docking ropes. The captains of each boat hopped down and placed most of the sacks near the bow at Niall’s direction. Gavin provided each boat with a set of leather bindings to secure the weapons inside. Once they transferred the oars onboard, the six remaining travelers eased themselves into the currachs.

  The captains pushed their vessels away from the pier and all nine members paddled east toward the mouth of Dunfanaghy Bay. Siobhan, Finn and Donal were the only ones to flick an occasional glimpse back to the harbor. Each glance found Gavin, Dáirine, and Murrough rooted to the end of the pier. They did not wave. They did not call out. The three stood motionless until the boats had faded out of their view.

  Donal’s rowing skills left much to be desired. It was all he could do to keep both of his oars moving in unison. When he rowed slowly, Brigid’s paddles smacked his. When he over-corrected and moved too quickly, he smacked the back of Niall’s oars. Luckily his crewmates did little scolding or grumbling. Within a few minutes he found Niall’s rhythm and his boat caught up with the others.

  Once they reached the middle of Sheephaven Bay, Niall slowed to let Siobhan and Maeve pull even with him.

  “So we just touch the sides near the bow and say, ‘Iceland?”’

  “It’s bigger than you’d think, from what I’ve been told,” Niall yelled. “There’s a chain of islands to its south and we’re going to the largest of them. It’s called Heimaey. According to the maps there’s nothing but sea between here and there. Go no faster than myself. We’ll likely reach Heimaey after sunset."

  “All day?” Donal asked. “Without stopping?”

  Niall shrugged. “There’s nothing in our way. Clear sailing.”

  “Come here to me,” Donal said, “we’re going to need to stop at some point.”

  Niall’s head rocked backward after a few seconds and he laughed. “So we will.”

  “And?” Donal asked.

  Niall leaned to port and dipped his hand in the water. “The water will be Baltic. Let’s just say we’re going to need our comrades to make skilled use of their wind magic.”

  Passengers on both Maeve’s and Siobhan’s boats looked at each other in confusion. Niall waved both hands at the other boats.

  “Hai, we’ll deal with it when the time comes,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Speak for yourself, sir,” Finn said with a smile. “I’m worried about it now.”

  Niall shook his head and leaned forward. He rested both hands on the gunwales near the bow of the ship.

  “Take us to Heimaey,” he shouted.

  A faint blue glow emerged from under the hide covering. The boat eased forward and increased its speed until the currach moved at the pace of a paddled boat.

  Donal twisted his torso to gauge Brigid’s reaction. Her eyes betrayed an otherwise unimpressed expression on her face.

  “Faster!” Niall yelled over his shoulder, likely for the benefit of the other boats shrinking behind him.

  The boat accelerated with enough of a lurch to send Donal scrambling for a hold of the safety rope.

  Niall craned his head for a look back to the left and right before calling upon the boat to travel even faster.

  Donal’s best estimation of their current speed was faster than any horse he’d seen run. Sheephaven Bay and nearly all of Ireland lie behind them now. They were in the open sea, traveling fast enough to force the bow to bounce on the larger waves. He pressed a fist against his mouth to fight off a wave of nausea. He pulled the hood of his mantle forward to keep the sea spray out of his face.

  Niall, confident the group had adjusted to their rate of travel, bade his currach go faster. Donal wrapped the safety rope around his hand and lifted his leg in order to get a good look at the southern horizon and found no trace of land. Were the hills of Horn Head still there, peeking over the sea, hidden in the night? Donal had no way of confirming it. Instead he faced front and looked to the sky. He squinted as he searched his memory for Maeve’s lessons on using the stars to measure the passage of time at night.

  The darkened shape of his captain spread wide and leaned forward. “Faster.”